Forget To Remember
by PavitraViswanath
Summary: Future fic.. Jane and Maura have been married for almost 45 years.. Maura is suffering from Alzheimers.. How does Jane make Maura remember about their life together? Please review! My first attempt at writing fanfiction!


**FORGET TO REMEMBER**

**This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction. Yes it had to be Rizzles. I have been a huge fan of the show and this idea kept up. I finally sat down and wrote it down. I hope you guys enjoy it. It's a one-shot.. just a bit of fluff.. and it's a future fic.. Rizzoli and Isles belongs to TNT and Tess Gerritsen and Janet Tamaro.. this work is not for profit.. am just playing with the characters.. so please review so that I will have the courage to write longer and better stories!**

"I don't think we have met before?"

Seven years have intervened between the day those painful words were uttered by my wife Maura, and my remembrance of it now as I stand on the patio. The sun seemed to have set... on hope, on the day, and on my life. My fears were confirmed. 'That' day had come.

Maura is my wife of forty five years and is the mother to my three wonderful children. Nine years ago, she was diagnosed with the Alzheimer disease. It was known that someday and for the days that hence followed, she'd have no comfort that fond memories otherwise provide. With her consent, I admitted her into 'Boston Care Centre' that dealt with patients like Maura. I visited her often but nothing came of my visits save the slow but sure confirmation of the fact that her weak memory was weakening further.

A year after she was admitted, Hatchkins, chief of her unit, expressed the need to meet me at the earliest. "The only way you can ever get your wife back is by making her fall in love with you each time you meet her. Never hope for her to love you the next time you meet her though" were her words. "How?" I wondered then and often since then, "will I ever be able to take her back over thirty six years?"

She was nine when we first met and I, eleven. I can argue even with the most disputatious person that young love would, could and did last. We were far too young for her to love me back then. Younger than the most tender offspring of the worn Alder trees that seemingly wish to dry my tears with its breeze.

It was much later, at the "Boston County Ball", when I first danced with her, that she allowed this "balloon-faced rancher" to try her luck at winning the heart of "the belle of her dreams". Not one moment of any day that followed found us looking back and wishing for things to have happened differently. Thus began our journey together and I was sure then as I am now that ours was a relationship that flowers were meant to speak of, poets were meant to write of, singers were meant to sing of and painters were meant to paint of. Not an evening went by without me getting lost in the orange of the setting sun that intermixed ever so gently with the whites in her eye.

I remember that fateful visit that has often since plagued my mind. I had been waiting for her at her ward as she had been taken out for routine walk in the gardens. She was the brought to me by her warden who left her with the words, "Here's someone to see you Maura". Maura studied me. She frowned. I smiled. I held out the flowers I had got her and she smiled. My heart smiled in response as if it were preparing itself for the words whose utterance would break it into a million unfixable pieces. "I don't think we have met before?" she said.

Her words made me want to hold her again and tell her that I was the woman she loved and yet, at the same time, her words made me want to leave and never go back. I sit now, looking at the treasure chest that threatens not to close shut should I put in another unsent letter addressed to "My dear Maura". I read the letters that she had once written to me and I imagine I am with her. I watch the sun as it sets and I can picture, oh so vividly, the intermixing of its' orange with the whites in my Maura's eyes.

It is my 45th wedding anniversary today. As much as the wisdom that my grey hair has blessed me with, warns me against going to see her, I find myself getting ready to go. I make the hour long journey and reach "Boston Care Centre". I am taken to the prayer room where Maura was reported to be.

I stood at the glass door and watched my angel. More grey, more frail, more serene and much more beautiful. Having done what I had come to do, I turned to leave, knowing that it was the only right thing to do. Just then I heard someone. "Jane?" said the unmistakable voice of my Maura. I turned. "I thought you'd never come?" she said. I closed my eyes. The tears fell. I opened them and they met hers and it was love that I saw intermixing with the whites in her eyes... ever so slowly but surely.


End file.
